


I Watched it Begin Again

by katquarius



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eve still works for MI6 but isn't hunting Villanelle, F/F, Meet-Cute, One Shot, These two are sexy to write even without the past murder attempts, Trapped In Elevator, Villanelle (actually Oksana) is an interior designer, Villaneve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25660021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katquarius/pseuds/katquarius
Summary: "At around floor thirty, the elevator slowed to a stop and a woman joined her in the compartment.Eve could feel the woman’s eyes on her as she continued fiddling with her hair. She glanced up at her, expecting the woman to look away upon being caught staring, but she didn’t. 'Are you alright?' Eve asked after a couple moments.'Wear it down,' the woman advised with a small smile, in a distinctly Eastern European accent."ORMy take on the "trapped in an elevator" trope, in which Villanelle isn't an assassin but her and Eve still have that electric connection because they're just like that.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 31
Kudos: 189





	I Watched it Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry y'all, I took it upon myself to allow Villanelle to achieve her interior designing dream from 3x08 <3
> 
> Title is from "Begin Again" by my wife Taylor Swift

Eve adjusted the strap of her handbag as she waited for the elevator to stop at the ground floor of the Pharaday headquarters building. It had been another frustrating meeting with Aaron Peel; he still refused to accept any protection from MI6 and Eve was beginning to grow suspicious of what specific parts of his company were up for sale, based on the way he evaded her relatively innocuous questions.

She tugged her hair out of its bun and shook it out, trying to alleviate the tension that was definitely not contributing to her headache as much as Mr. Peel’s deepy irritating disposition had.

At around floor thirty, the elevator slowed to a stop and a woman joined her in the compartment, before they continued their journey to the ground floor.

Eve could feel the woman’s eyes on her as she continued fiddling with her hair. She glanced up at her, expecting the woman to look away upon being caught staring, but she didn’t. “Are you alright?” Eve asked after a couple moments.

The woman finally looked away, a little surprised, like she’d been broken out of a trance.

Eve looked away, too, bewildered by the entire interaction. She scooped her hair up in preparation to tie it back again, but stopped when the other woman finally spoke.

“Wear it down,” she advised with a small smile, in a distinctly Eastern European accent.

Eve met her eyes again, and wordlessly dropped her hair. She wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to do. There weren’t any social guidelines for how to act when a total stranger gives you advice on your physical appearance, at least not any that Eve knew of.

The woman’s smile grew, eyes trained on Eve’s curls as they fell to frame her face. “You have amazing hair.”

“Uh, thank you.”

The woman nodded and looked forward at the elevator door again.

Eve blinked a couple times at the insanely bizarre interaction she’d just had. When it seemed like the woman was done interacting with her for the time being, Eve decided to surreptitiously take in her appearance, too. She didn’t generally stare at strangers, but this woman _had_ done it first. What was the harm? It was a long elevator ride anyway, and Eve had nothing better to do.

Eve looked at the woman out of the corner of her eye. She had dark blonde hair, maybe honey, tied back in a low bun. She was slim, about twenty-five or twenty-six. She had very delicate features. Wide, alert, catlike eyes. Full lips, a long neck, high cheekbones. She was impeccably dressed, in a navy checked blazer and matching slacks over a white v-neck blouse. Eve could tell the whole ensemble was expensive. She was tall, partly due to her white heels, but Eve figured the woman was still a little taller than her without them. She clutched a leather briefcase in her left hand.

Finished with her inspection, Eve turned to face forward, waiting for the ding of the elevator to signal their arrival on the ground floor, or at least a pitstop for another passenger to get on.

It never came. Instead, a minute or so later, there was a loud clunk, and the elevator stopped with a sudden jolt through Eve’s spine. The lights went out, then dimmer ones clicked on a second later.

 _Fuck._ Eve wasn’t claustrophobic or anything, but there was still nothing pleasant about the possibility of being trapped in an elevator with someone who really put the ‘strange’ in ‘stranger’ for any longer than necessary.

The woman reached out to press the button to call security, but nothing happened. She grumbled and jabbed it again, then again, and then multiple times in rapid succession. She cursed under her breath but Eve didn’t understand what she said; it sounded like a different language--perhaps Romance?

When the woman finally gave up, she sighed loudly and slumped back against the wall, dropping her briefcase to the floor. She reminded Eve of a teenager not getting their way, her petulant body language contradicting her incredibly professional outfit. “I guess we’re stuck here,” she lamented.

“I suppose so.” Eve glanced around them. At least it was a nice elevator, clean and modern, not metallic and dingy like most of the London ones Eve had been in, even if it was a little on the small side. A thought struck her. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” she asked the woman.

“No.” The woman was silent for a moment before she returned the question, as if she’d just realized that she was supposed to ask it back. “Are you?”

Eve shook her head. “No, I was actually just thinking that as far as elevators go, there are worse ones to be trapped in.”

“Thank you,” the woman grinned at her.

“What?”

“I designed this elevator,” she explained, glancing around at the tan wood panelling and crisp tile floors. “Unfortunately they didn’t give me much creative license; I had to use the colors they wanted. Not my favorite scheme to work with.” She made a face.

“So you’re an… elevator designer?”

The woman laughed good-naturedly, eyes crinkling at the corners as she cast a sidelong glance at Eve. “Interior designer, yes. I do more than elevators. I did most of this building.”

She said it proudly, almost like she was bragging. Although, designing an entire building’s interior was definitely something worth boasting about, Eve supposed, especially one as high scale as this and for such a young individual. Eve generally didn’t appreciate when people lacked humility, especially strangers, but she felt herself smile nonetheless. This woman’s ego was weirdly charming.

“That’s… really impressive, congratulations,” Eve commented earnestly. 

The woman just shrugged and smiled, but Eve noticed her eyes light up at the compliment.

“So, does that mean you can get us out of here?” Eve asked, only partially joking.

The woman laughed again. “Unfortunately not. I just make things look pretty.”

“Ah.”

“So what do you do? Ms...” the woman trailed off, prompting Eve to give her her name.

“Oh! Eve Polastri.”

“Eve Polastri,” the woman echoed, almost reverently. The ‘r’ caught slightly in her mouth. _Russian,_ Eve thought. 

“It’s nice to meet you…”

“Oksana Astankova,” the woman, Oksana, answered, holding out a hand for Eve to shake.

“Oksana,” Eve repeated, trying not to butcher the pronunciation as she reciprocated the firm handshake and committed the name to memory. “I work for British Intelligence.”

“You’re American, no?” Oksana asked, confusion in the set of her brows.

“I was born here, but I grew up in America,” Eve explained.

Oksana nodded in understanding. “Your job sounds exciting,” she commented, eyes wide with interest.

“It can be, but it’s also a lot of paperwork and dealing with shady dickheads.” Eve hadn’t initially expected her stint with MI6 to be so deskbound. At least investigating the deaths of Pharaday employees had gotten her out of the office. 

“Ah, so you’ve met Aaron Peel.”

Eve laughed. “Oh, yes.”

Oksana wrinkled her nose. “He is the worst. Such a pain in the arse.”

Eve nodded in solidarity.

“Did you know he’s a total control freak?” Oksana continued. “He barely let me do my job, back when I was first contracted here. I spent an entire day messing around in the breakroom and he didn’t even notice. I got paid to eat donuts and take a nap.”

“Really?” Eve laughed. Oksana had guts.

“Yes!” she insisted. “That was mostly to make a point, though. I still worked on my own designs when I got home. Everyone ended up liking mine better, and I think Aaron was _impressed?_ That I went behind his back? So he chose my designs.”

Eve smiled. She didn’t doubt that for a second. Oksana definitely seemed to have the confidence, skill, and charisma to stand up to someone like Aaron Peel and come out on top.

Eve already found herself admiring this woman twenty years her junior. She followed her passions (at least Eve assumed that interior design was her passion, based on the way she talked about it) and didn’t let herself be held back by others. She was unabashedly herself--unafraid to state her mind.

Eve was a bit struck by her, to be totally honest, and wanted to learn more.

“So,” Oksana started, when Eve didn’t comment further on her story, too lost in thought. “Have you ever been stuck in an elevator before?”

“No, have you?”

“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘p.’ “Do you know how long they’ll take to get us out?”

“Well, it’s the middle of the work day, so probably not longer than an hour?”

Oksana groaned loudly, and Eve tried her best to stifle a smile.

“Are you saying I’m bad company?” Eve asked teasingly, then wondered when she became the type of person who teased borderline strangers. Something about this woman just brought it out of her.

Oksana didn’t miss a beat. “Of course not. I like talking to you.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, head tilting to the side as she looked at Eve and thought over her answer. “I normally don’t talk to people unless I have to; I don’t really care about them. I think it’s because I get bored really easily. And I think people think I’m intimidating, so they don’t want to talk to me either,” she shrugged.

It was a bit jarring to hear someone talk so cavalierly about how much they didn’t care about strangers, even though it probably wasn’t as rare as Eve had been led to believe. She could definitely understand the intimidation factor, though. Oksana was certainly a vision, looking every bit the severe businesswoman in her fancy suit with her tight bun and piercing eyes. The height and natural beauty and Russian accent probably didn’t help matters.

She had been nothing but civil to Eve, though. There were a few social guidelines that she seemed not to understand or just refused to comply with, but that didn’t make her a bad person by any stretch. Just... different. And Eve was fascinated by different, she’d studied deviant psychology in college for a reason. Not that she was trying to diagnose Oksana or anything, or even that there was anything to diagnose. She was just… yeah, different was really the best way to describe her. Oksana was refreshing.

“So you don’t think I’m boring, then?” Eve deduced.

“Uh, no,” Oksana answered in a ‘duh’ tone of voice. “That’s why I’m talking to you.”

Eve nodded as she thought that over for a moment, ignoring Oksana’s vaguely rude tone in favor of her complimentary words. Eve often felt like she was boring, with her nine to five desk job, drab work outfits, failing marriage, et cetera. She was flattered that Oksana didn’t agree, and was curious about exactly why.

Mostly, she was just curious about Oksana in general, a couple work stories not enough to sate her interest.

“Where are you from?” Eve asked, almost positive the answer was Russia, but wondering if Oksana would go into any more detail. A city, perhaps, or another anecdote to paint a better picture of who she was as a person.

She didn’t get any of it.

A dark look passed over Oksana’s face, but it disappeared as soon as it had arrived. Eve reckoned she’d have missed it if she wasn’t so focused on everything Oksana.

“Where are _you_ from?” Oksana deflected.

“America, I just told you,” Eve replied, frowning slightly.

“Oh, right.” Oksana shifted her feet and smiled uncertainly. “Where in America?”

“Connecticut,” Eve replied absently, concentrating on Oksana’s body language. She seemed nervous all of the sudden, and it wasn’t an emotion Eve expected from someone who’d seemed so self-assured for the whole, admittedly very brief time Eve had known her. Yes, most people had a vast range of moods, but with Oksana, it was like a switch had been flicked; zero to sixty in seconds as a result of such an innocuous question of origin.

Instead of fitting together pieces of the puzzle that was this stranger in the elevator, Eve felt like she’d just found out that the puzzle had a thousand pieces instead of a hundred. Oksana had almost seemed like a caricature, with her over-confident, larger-than-life, main character-esque attitude. It was jarring to find out first hand that she was human just like Eve, just like everyone else, and had her own hopes and dreams and fears and insecurities.

Eve decided on a different subject of conversation, Oksana evidently not comfortable with the current one. “How did you get into interior design?”

Oksana visibility perked up at that, and Eve realized that she’d never met someone who wore their emotions on their (designer) sleeves so transparently.

“I realized in school that I had an eye for art and design,” Oksana started. “Detail-oriented, that kind of thing. I especially loved French architecture. I was going to go to university for it, but then I found out that architecture is a _lot_ of math. Not my thing.” She made another face and Eve reciprocated it in solidarity. She was more of a soft sciences person herself. “So I found an interior design program.”

“What brings you to London, then, if French styles were your passion?” London and Paris were as different as night and day, at least going by aesthetics.

“I did live in Paris for a few years,” Oksana explained, “but there was a lot of competition there. I wasn’t the only young hopeful in the city. I was the best, though,” she grinned. “Even so, the money wasn’t as good when there were so many designers. And this gig with Pharaday was going to be big.” Her eyes went wide with emphasis on that last word.

“So here you are,” Eve finished for her.

“Here I am.”

“Do you like London?” Eve asked, but for some reason she felt that she already knew the answer.

Oksana gave her her most affronted look yet. “Absolutely not. London is shitty.”

Eve laughed, and decided that Oksana was kind of fun to tease. “You know, I heard people pee in the streets in Paris.”

Oksana rolled her eyes. “People piss in every big city. But not every city has the Eiffel Tower, and the Louvre, and the Notre-Dame, and the Champs-Elysées,” she listed in an impeccable French accent.

Eve found that her eyes had glued themselves to Oksana’s lips of their own accord, watching the foreign sounds roll off them. She blinked a couple times, snapping herself out of it. “So it really is just the art and architecture that you like?”

“No,” Oksana drew out the word, and a smug smile settled on her pink lips. “That was just what I liked as a _kid._ ”

The emphasis on her age at a time conveyed innocence, and Eve suspected that she was indicating a contrast to her more recent opinions of the City of Love, which were likely anything but. Eve wasn’t sure what came over her when she pushed Oksana further, asking “what is it that you like now?”, but she found she liked the way Oksana’s reaction emboldened her.

Oksana raised an eyebrow, a smirk settling on her glossy lips as she appraised Eve, like she was enjoying learning about this side of Eve, too. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and Eve found that she didn’t find it as predatory as when men did it. Or, maybe it was still predatory, but it didn’t make Eve feel uncomfortable.

“Paris is sexy,” Oksana started in a low tone, borderline purring to Eve. “The people are sexy, the places are sexy. You can have a _lot_ of sex in Paris, if you want to.”

Eve didn’t notice Oksana moving, but she was almost positive Oksana had been a few steps further away when she’d started talking. “Did you want to?” Eve heard someone ask in her own voice. She felt like she was having an out of body experience.

“Yes, but never so much as I do now.”

Holy fuck, hold on a moment.

What was happening? Did Oksana really say that? Was Eve flirting back? 

Eve had met this woman, like, ten minutes ago. And Eve had a husband. Yes, barely, and she’d been sitting on the divorce papers for a little while now, but she was still technically married. And she was also straight? At least, she thought she was? Things weren’t looking so black and white now, though, with Oksana’s perfume wafting into her nose and making her feel lightheaded. Eve sincerely did not expect any of this when a gorgeous _female_ millennial joined her in the elevator on an unsuspecting Tuesday afternoon.

“What?” Eve asked dumbly, praising the Lord when it didn’t come out as an undignified squeak.

Oksana shot her a confused look. “I said, ‘yes, but I prefer to go on a date first, nowadays.’”

Oh. Well, that was less bad. Actually, no, the first one wasn’t bad, just way _way_ more forward than Eve had expected, even from the highly unpredictable enigma standing in front of her. 

(Why did she feel vaguely disappointed? She really needed to do some soul-searching.)

“You know, like, implying that I want to go on a date with you,” Oksana continued, confident smirk faltering slightly at Eve missing her meaning.

“Oh!” So Oksana was actually being forward, just… slightly more gentlewomanly than Eve’s subconscious had imagined. That was nice of her.

When Eve still hadn’t responded with a full sentence, Oksana cleared her throat. “So, can I take you out?” she asked tactlessly, but Eve found it kind of endearing. (What the _fuck_ was going on?)

Eve almost replied with ‘yes, God yes, I want to learn everything about you like what friends you have and what you eat before you work and what shampoo you use and where you grew up and why you don’t talk about it and what your lips feel like and what your body feels like and-’ but at the last second, reality came crashing down.

“I’m, uh, actually married,” Eve said in a tight voice, gesturing down at her wedding ring. Stupid fucking reality.

“Oh.” Oksana frowned, eyes settling on the ring, and Eve really hoped Oksana didn’t think that she’d led her on. At least she didn’t do it on purpose, her whole… attraction… to Oksana had honestly snuck up on her, and she probably wouldn’t have even recognized it as such unless Oksana had made the first move.

Oksana didn’t apologize, and for that Eve was grateful. She hadn’t done anything wrong; Eve wasn’t mad at her.

“I don’t think I’m going to be for much longer, though,” Eve elaborated.

Oksana’s frown shifted into one of confusion, like she wasn’t sure if she should offer her condolences because failing marriages were usually sad or be excited because that meant that a date with Eve was a possibility in the future. That was fair, although Eve figured most people would skew toward the first option. Another testament to the way Oksana was unafraid to let her opinions be known.

In the end, Oksana just waited for Eve to continue.

“But it would feel… wrong… to do anything before it’s officially over.”

Oksana nodded in understanding, and backed up to a respectful distance from Eve.

“I really like you, though!” Eve promised, because she didn’t want Oksana to think that she was flat out rejecting her. This had everything to do with Eve’s lack of foresight; it definitely didn’t reflect poorly on Oksana at all.

Oksana shot her a smile, posture confident like it was when they first started talking, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Eve felt her stomach sink.

“I’m serious,” she asserted, imploring Oksana to believe her. For some reason preventing Oksana’s feelings from getting hurt was suddenly Eve’s only priority in the entire world.

“Prove it, then,” Oksana challenged simply, raising her eyebrows again.

“What?”

Oksana reached into the breast pocket of her blazer and pulled out a business card. She handed it over to Eve, who took it wordlessly, taking in the Pharaday logo before running her finger over Oksana’s full name. (Huh, she spelled it with a ‘ks’ instead of the ‘x’ Eve had imagined. It was pretty.) She took in the phone number and email address next.

“If you’re serious,” Oksana finally explained, “call me. When it’s official.”

Eve looked up at Oksana and found that she was smiling again, and this one looked genuine--hazel eyes bright and small dimples appearing by the corners of her mouth.

“I will,” Eve vowed, weirdly dramatic for something as trivial as promising to go on a date with someone. But for some reason, it felt important.

If they weren’t trapped in an elevator, Eve thought, this would be the perfect time for Oksana to make an elusive exit, giving Eve a moment to gather herself as she tried to conjure up the exact shade of Oksana’s hair in her mind’s eye.

Alas, they _were_ trapped in an elevator, so it all became a little awkward. At least, Eve felt awkward. She wasn’t sure if Oksana was capable of such an emotion.

Eve watched as Oksana turned back toward the elevator door, quietly standing still for all of five seconds before sighing heavily. She checked her watch, then hit the emergency button again, then ran her hands along the panel to click all of the buttons like Buddy does in ‘Elf,’ huffing when they didn’t light up. She rocked from heel to toe for a few moments, then stepped back to lean against the wall and slid down to sit on the ground.

She didn’t have much better luck on the floor. She fiddled with the latches of her briefcase for a little while, then bounced her leg until that became boring, then buttoned and unbuttoned her blazer until Eve worried that the stitching would rip and the button would pop off.

She stood up again and paced back and forth as best as she could in the small space.

“Are you okay?” Eve finally asked, wondering if Oksana’s restlessness was some byproduct of Eve’s half-rejection making her anxious or upset or something, or maybe she was starting to feel claustrophobic.

“Fine, why?” Oksana asked, adding a little skip to her step.

“Because you seem anxious?” Eve tried, watching as Oksana transitioned into hopping in place like a child, coming down harder and harder on the floor until the compartment started to shake and Eve could hear the clunk of metal beyond the tiled floor. “Oksana!” she shouted, feeling her own nerves multiply.

Oksana stopped at once. “What?”

What did she mean _what?_ “You’re shaking the entire elevator!”

“Yes,” Oksana agreed, “it’s fun. You should try it.”

“It’s not going to be fun when we go careening down to our deaths!”

“That probably would be fun,” she countered, quite illogically from Eve’s point of view, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she bent her knees to jump again.

“Oksana!” Eve yelled, louder this time, and Oksana straightened up.

“Fine,” she mumbled with a frown. “But we wouldn’t fall, you know that, right? The counterweight is heavier than the elevator plus the weight of us two, so we’d go upward if something went wrong, not down.”

“How is that any better?” Eve asked exasperatedly. “Wait, how do you even know that? You said you just make elevators look nice.”

“I mean, I did start off in architecture. I had to take physics my freshman year.” Oksana shuddered exaggeratedly.

“Ew.”

“I know, right.”

Satisfied that Oksana probably wouldn’t try to send them careening _up_ to their deaths after being snapped at twice, Eve tried to slow her breathing and relax her muscles.

“So, what’s up with you?” she asked, as Oksana returned to her less disruptive pacing.

“Nothing.”

“You’re sure?” Eve asked skeptically.

“I just get… restless. I hate staying still.”

“Ah.” That made sense. It wasn’t really claustrophobia, just the fact that Oksana was cooped up for longer than expected and didn’t know what to do with herself. A little hyperactive, maybe. “You should try one of those fidget toys,” Eve suggested.

Oksana scoffed, apparently not loving that idea. “I’m not a child.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t still help. But if you don’t like the sound of ‘toy,’ you could try a stress ball or something.”

Oksana glanced at her, seemingly considering the idea reluctantly. “Maybe I will. But only if we don’t die in here first.” She tossed her head back and covered her eyes with an arm in faux despair.

Eve chuckled at her theatrics. “They should be here any moment now, and you can be on your interior designing way.” That gave her an idea. “Speaking of, do you have anything interesting in your briefcase?”

That got Oksana’s attention better than the fidgeting comment had, and she actually stopped pacing to look Eve’s way. “Designs for a new Pharaday location,” she answered.

“Show me?”

Oksana smiled excitedly before moving to sit beside her briefcase, patting the floor next to her in an invitation to Eve. Eve moved from the spot in which she’d remained since she first entered the elevator, decidedly not as restless as Oksana, and sat beside her.

Oksana laid the briefcase down beside her, then flipped the latches and lifted the lid. She started spreading a few blueprints around the floor in front of them. They weren’t stereotypical literally blue two-dimensional architectural blueprints, though; the papers were white and each one had colored furniture and depicted different textures and included three-dimensional perspectives. Eve supposed that that made sense, you’d definitely need more than just floorplans and front elevations in order to convey the aesthetic flow of a room.

They were all computerized images, made with some kind of 3D modeling software, but Eve could tell that they weren’t the final copies. Most of the blueprints were riddled with what she presumed to be Oksana’s notes on things to change, scrawled in loopy, half-cursive handwriting, perhaps written at the meeting she had probably been coming from when she entered the elevator.

Interestingly, about half the notes were written in English, and the other half were, what, French? No Russian, though. Perhaps Oksana’s issues with her homeland ran deeper than Eve originally thought, if she was willing to completely write off her native tongue. Seeing as they were in London, the English was probably because it made more sense to take down notes in the same language that she was receiving the suggestions in, instead of translating in her head first. The presence of French must have meant that French was Oksana’s backup internal monologue language, not English. So she was completely fluent in three languages? This woman got more fascinating by the second.

“This is really cool, Oksana,” she praised earnestly, reaching out to pick up the blueprint that was labelled ‘CEO Office.’ The designs of this building were definitely different than the interior of the current Pharaday building. There were much more modern blacks, whites, and grays, with a sprinkling of maroon, and less of the tans and browns of the current building that Oksana mentioned she didn’t appreciate as much. “Did they let you use your own color scheme on this one?” Eve inferred.

“Yes,” Oksana confirmed, smiling proudly. “I like the modern monochromatic aesthetic, but most people make it _too_ monochromatic, if that makes any sense. That’s why I added the maroon,” she explained, pointing out some of the red highlights. “And a lot of the rooms on the opposite side of the building have yellow highlights,” she continued, grabbing one such blueprint, “because the light hits differently there.”

The blueprints even included the direction that light comes in through the windows, with different brightnesses based on whether the windows faced North, East, South, or West. And Oksana was right, the light had a huge effect on which color looked best. Eve was impressed, though not surprised--Oksana definitely knew her shit.

“You ask a lot of questions about me,” Oksana observed after Eve had perused the blueprints for a few minutes. “Now tell me something about yourself,” she requested, starting to stack up her papers.

Eve shook her head fondly at Oksana’s bluntness. “Well, what do you want to know?”

Oksana shrugged. “I don’t know. What was your meeting about with Aaron?”

“Top secret,” Eve replied with a sly grin.

“Is it really?”

“Yeah,” Eve chuckled, “it actually kind of is.”

Oksana raised her eyebrows, impressed and intrigued. “I think you should tell me anyway,” she whispered conspiratorily.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I want to know!”

“No, I know that,” Eve laughed again, “I meant why should I trust you with my top secret government intel?”

“I am very trustworthy,” Oksana vowed, putting on a serious face and placing a hand over her heart.

“Are you, now? Because I get the impression that you have a big mouth.”

“I do?” Oksana furrowed her brows in confusion, lifting a hand to her lips.

“No, not actually, I mean you talk a lot. I feel like you enjoy gossip.” Oksana _had_ been quite talkative for a (former) stranger. There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with that, but it did give Eve pause. Would the information get out as soon as they left the elevator?

“That is what you think of me, Eve?” Oksana asked, but she didn’t seem offended, just perplexed. “I already told you I don’t care about most people. So I don’t care about their drama either.”

“Then why do you care about what’s going on with Aaron Peel?” Eve asked, thinking she had a valid point.

Oksana rolled her eyes. “We’ve been over this, Eve. I am interested in you, so I’m interested in the Aaron Peel case.”

Eve narrowed her eyes, running through Oksana’s arguments in her head as she decided whether or not to spill the beans.

Oksana stuck her bottom lip out in a pout, way cuter than it had any right to be on the face of a grown woman, and Eve sighed. “Fine.”

Oksana grinned, then nodded in an invitation for Eve to speak.

Eve hoped she wouldn't lose her job for this. “A bunch of people surrounding Pharaday have died recently. It started with Aaron’s father Allister Peel--the owner of the company--and then his godson, CEO, ex-girlfriend, and secretary. We think they’re being assassinated. I’m here trying to get Aaron to agree to some protection, but he’s being exceedingly… stubborn.”

Oksana nodded her head, focusing intently as Eve told her story. “It’s probably Aaron doing it.”

“What, killing everyone?”

Oksana nodded, her pointer finger and thumb stroking her chin in thought, the way Eve always saw people do on TV but never in real life. “Or at least hiring the assassins.”

Eve and Jess had wondered offhandedly if that was the case, but Eve was intrigued by how quickly Oksana had jumped to that relatively dark conclusion. “What makes you say that?”

“You said he’s refusing protection. He doesn’t seem like the macho type, right? So if he’s not being all ‘I don’t need protection because I’m a big strong man,’” Oksana mimicked, in a remarkably good British male imitation, “then he’s probably refusing because he knows that he doesn’t need any protection, because he’s the one behind everything.”

Her theory certainly wasn’t backed by much concrete evidence, but Eve was still impressed by how sound and clever her reasoning was, especially after only hearing about the case a minute ago. She was also impressed by how Oksana was able to ignore the emotions of the case and focus purely on the logic. She didn’t seem to have any objection to contemplating the more cruel and unorthodox theories, whereas most people would hesitate to jump straight to patricide.

“Plus, he’s a dick. And kind of weird. One time he made me stop eating orange chocolate because _he_ thinks it’s disgusting.”

“What the fuck?” That _was_ weird, Oksana’s theory was looking more probable by the minute. Eve wondered if she’d ever be interested in the spy life.

“I know. Very strange.” Oksana wrinkled her nose, and Eve found it interesting that Oksana seemed to find the orange chocolate incident more disturbing than the possibility that Aaron was complicit in multiple homicides.

The longer she talked to Oksana, the more Eve wanted to crawl into her brain and figure out how the gears fit together. She spoke and behaved and thought differently than anyone Eve had ever met; was that because she was truly wired a bit differently? Or was everyone like Oksana deep down, and she was just the only one who didn’t let society’s expectations cow her into being someone other than herself? In that case, was Oksana’s behavior a conscious choice? Eve didn’t really get that impression.

She wondered if it’d be freeing to be more like Oksana, to just give into your every thought and feeling and desire and not fear retribution. On the other hand, Oksana had mentioned that a lot of people are intimidated by her. Perhaps being the only person on your wavelength made for a lonely existence. It was probably difficult to have no one understand you, even though Oksana claimed not to care.

Eve wondered if she could ever learn to understand, if she could join Oksana on her exclusive plane of existence. Maybe Eve was supposed to be there with her, and that was why her painfully _normal_ marriage wasn’t cutting it for her anymore--it was just never meant for her in the first place. Maybe that’s why they seemed to just… click.

Eve found that she really wanted to try. And even if she was wrong, and she didn’t belong there with Oksana, she still wanted to learn everything she could about Oksana’s fascinating headspace.

And, really, was it technically cheating to just get a drink with the most interesting person you’ve ever meant while you get to know them better? Eve didn’t think so, as long as she didn’t kiss Oksana or anything. Maybe they could save the kissing for when the divorce papers were signed, just to preserve Eve’s conscience and to give Niko the respect he was due. After all, he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

Yes, this was a good plan. It would further prove to Oksana that she was serious about her feelings, and would ensure that she kept Oksana in her life in one way or another. That was Eve’s main concern.

“Oksana?” she asked, resolve in place.

“Hm?”

“This is going to sound silly, because I literally just turned you down, but I would actually love to get a drink or coffee with you sometime. Can we just, not call it a date yet? But I really want to get to know you.”

Oksana beamed, victorious and only slightly smug. “Okay, Eve. We can go on a not-date sometime. Are you free at eight on Friday night?”

Eve thought over her schedule. “Should be, yeah,” she answered with a small smile, suddenly conscious of the fact that this not-date was sounding more and more like a date and she wasn’t even mad about it. (Again, if she didn’t kiss Oksana, then who’s to say that it wasn’t just drinks with a friend?)

“Okay. You can choose the place, just text me the address. And don’t worry about the price. I will pay for you.”

“Oh, thank you, but you really don’t-.”

“I insist,” Oksana interrupted, charming smile in place.

Yeah, the ‘not’ in not-date was basically out the window at this point. Oh well, no one could say that Eve didn’t try. She tried decently hard, actually. It wasn’t her fault that Oksana was incredibly alluring both physically and mentally and actually quite chivalrous, underneath it all.

“Fine,” Eve acquiesced, and Oksana’s smile turned satisfied.

“Good,” Oksana replied, and Eve realized that they were close again, leaning toward each other from where they were sat on the floor. Jesus, Eve had never felt a magnetic attraction like this before. It was honestly thrilling, she thought as she watched Oksana’s eyes dart down to her lips, and Eve was half positive that she’d have her face mashed into Oksana’s by now if it weren’t for the stupid ring on her finger.

Alas.

They jolted apart, the spell broken, when there was a loud metallic creak from the top half of the elevator door. Evidently they’d stopped between floors. They watched as the door opened slowly, a couple firemen prying it open with unfamiliar tools.

“Alright down there, ladies?” a man called, kneeling down so he could see them when the door was about halfway open.

“Yes, thank you,” Eve answered at the same time as Oksana replied “do you mind?”

Eve shot her a confused look.

“What? They’re ruining the moment.”

Eve laughed incredulously. “That _moment_ was about to make me unfaithful,” she whispered harshly to Oksana, who only shrugged. (Eve hoped that her unbothered reaction didn’t mean that Oksana was inclined to cheat, and wondered briefly what she was getting herself into. She couldn’t really find it in herself to care, though; she supposed she could ask about dating history later on and hopefully clear everything up.) “Plus, these are our saviors, you should be thanking them,” she scolded.

“They’re just doing their job. Why would I thank someone for doing what’s expected of them?”

Ah, so this is what Oksana was like with the general public. There was definitely some room for improvement, but Eve could probably learn to roll with it.

“Because without them, you’d have been stuck in here for _much_ longer,” Eve reasoned.

“Yes, exactly. Much longer with you,” Oksana countered cheekily, drawing out the last word.

Eve sighed, not deigning to reply, instead hiding a small smile. She stood up and approached the elevator door where the firemen had finished opening it completely.

“Alright, you can pass up your bags first,” the fireman instructed, “and then we’ll hoist you up by your arms.”

Eve passed her handbag up and Oksana did the same with her briefcase, then gestured for Eve to be extricated first.

Eve gripped the forearms of two of the firemen, and they each gripped one of hers. One of them counted to three before they lifted her up gently, then changed the angle to pull her forward onto the ground on her stomach.

“Thank you so much,” Eve said politely, standing up and dusting herself off.

“Of course, ma’am. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she assured, returning her bag to her shoulder and stepping off to the side to wait for Oksana.

The firemen repeated the process with Oksana, and she even awarded them a curt “thanks” when she was out and upright, much to Eve’s surprise and delight.

“Well, we’re so sorry about that ladies, but have a great rest of your day!” one of the firemen said somewhat awkwardly, and Eve didn’t blame him. What was one supposed to say?

“Thank you again,” Eve replied. “Wanna take the stairs?” she asked Oksana, who snorted a laugh and followed her down the hallway.

Unfortunately, they were still twelve floors up, so it wasn’t the most fun walk of Eve’s life, and her quads burned by the end of it. Behind her, Oksana was breathing exceptionally less hard. Curse her youth and apparent athleticism. 

Eve felt a lot better when they exited the lobby and met the chilly London air, though it was a double edged sword, because now she had to have yet _another_ awkward encounter. She was about ready for this day to be over.

She turned to Oksana, a former stranger, current friend(?), and future date. (Three different labels in the course of forty-five minutes? That had to be a record.) “So, it was nice to meet you, and I liked talking to you today. I look forward to Friday.”

“Me too,” Oksana agreed with a smile. “I think if I could have been trapped in an elevator with anyone, I’m glad it was you,” she said contemplatively, and Eve thought that was probably one of the nicest things she could have possibly said. She hoped to learn more about Oksana’s softer side soon, she had a feeling it didn’t come out much.

“Alright, well-” Eve started to say goodbye, but was cut off by Oksana’s body colliding into hers, Oksana’s arms wrapping around Eve’s shoulders in a tight hug.

“Because I don’t think you want me to kiss you yet,” she explained quietly into Eve’s ear.

“Thank you,” Eve whispered with a smile, arms raising to wrap around Oksana’s waist as Oksana nodded a ‘you’re welcome’ against her head. Eve was endlessly appreciative that Oksana was perceptive and respectful enough to not push her into anything she wasn’t ready for yet, and tried to convey her appreciation through the hug.

They pulled apart a couple seconds later and Eve immediately mourned the warmth of her body, and lamented the way the smell of her perfume seemed to retreat from Eve’s personal space to follow Oksana.

“I’ll see you around, Eve,” Oksana farewelled, retrieving her briefcase from where she’d dropped it on the sidewalk to hug Eve.

“See you later, Oksana.”

Oksana gave a parting smile, raising her eyebrows twice cheekily, before turning and striding away in the opposite direction of Eve’s bus stop.

Eve watched her retreat for a moment, taking in the determined way she walked when she actually had a destination, unlike when she was pacing earlier, then turned and headed toward her bus stop.

When Eve thought of no one besides Oksana Astankova for the next three hours uninterrupted, and then for the next three days with minimal interruptions, she knew she was in trouble. Or, perhaps her life had just changed forever.

Maybe it was both.

**Author's Note:**

> It was kind of a challenge to write an AU Villaneve because I usually include a ton of introspection on their checkered past together, but I really enjoyed trying to flesh out what a non-assassin but still decently abnormal Villanelle would look like! Let me know your thoughts :)
> 
> P.S. As a STEM gay, it physically pained me to write the math and physics slander (multivariable calculus notwithstanding, fuck that garbage), but I did it for the characterization because Eve and Villanelle give me 'shit at math' vibes. That’s how dedicated I am.


End file.
